6. Chapter 6

6

Q uinn didn't hesitate when he got home. He didn't even hang up his jacket or slip off his shoes. He walked straight into the living room, dropped down beside Mars on the sofa and wrote out a message.

The whole time he was driving back, he'd been thinking about what to say. He didn't want to come across as too needy or desperate, but equally, he didn't want to appear nonchalant or aggressive. In the end, the message tipped more towards the desperate and relied heavily on empathy to get his answers.

Message sent; he placed his phone on the coffee table to await a reply.

He'd met Damon at university.

Friends of mutual friends had put them on a collision course, and the second their eyes had met, sparks had flown. Damon was handsome, blond-haired and honey-eyed, with a deep dimple in his chin and eyebrows a few shades darker than the hair on his head.

He oozed confidence, was always in the middle of the dance floor and had a phone overflowing with contacts. It hardly ever stopped buzzing. Even years later, it still pinged, buzzed and rung, and he'd never been secretive about it, until a few months ago when he began leaving the room to reply.

Maybe Quinn should've picked up on it then.

Quinn's heart ceased in his chest as his phone lit up. He didn't immediately grab it but dug his nails into his palms as he took a few calming breaths.

It kept ringing.

Mars showed his support by moving closer.

Quinn accepted the call.

"Is…is this Quinn?"

The voice shook, slightly nervous, and Quinn knew his wasn't going to sound much better when he replied, but he had to. He had to know.

"Yeah, this is Quinn, and you're…you're—"

"Sam."

Sam. Sam Dustin, to be precise. The man Damon had cheated on Quinn with after having one too many drinks one night. They both knew Sam; he'd been at university at the same time but not in their friendship group, but Damon's friendship group was all-encompassing.

"Look," Sam said. "What happened with Damon… It was a one-off. We bumped into each other, we had too much to drink and…what happened, happened."

Quinn could've accepted that. It was the same story Damon had told him. And maybe if it wasn't for Zane, he would've accepted it, then called Damon and told him he was willing to try again, but the broken watch on his wrist glinted.

"I know you're lying." Quinn put conviction in his voice. "I know this…thing between you started months ago. Damon told me everything."

Sam was quiet for a long time, then exhaled a long-drawn out, "shit."

"Shit," Quinn repeated. His heart fluttered. His palms were clammy. He resisted the urge to hang up on Sam and held on while they both took a moment.

"Why did you want to talk to me if you already know?"

"To clarify a few things. Damon was vague when it came to certain aspects of your relationship—"

"It wasn't a relationship. It was just sex."

Quinn winced. "Did you bump into each other one night like he said?"

"No." Sam sighed. "He'd been sending me messages."

"Messages?"

"You know what kind of messages."

"For how long?"

"For over a year."

Quinn folded over and braced his free hand on the coffee table. "That…that long?"

"I kept telling him he shouldn't be doing that, he was in a relationship, but he persisted. He…he flirted, and I"—Sam groaned—"I know I shouldn't have, but he wore me down and I responded."

"When did it become more than phones? When did you…"

Quinn couldn't say it. He wanted to be sick.

"A few months ago. We met up. We went into town, walked around a few shops, had something to eat, then…then went back to mine—"

"Did he buy a watch?"

Sam sighed. "He did. For me. I refused to take it."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

"Not a clue."

Quinn's eyes were blurry with tears. "He got it engraved and gave it to me. I'm wearing it right now."

"I didn—"

"Did you ever come to the house?"

"No, we mostly hooked up at mine, a few times in his car, and once at Indigo."

A picture of Sam and Damon locking lips had been sent to Quinn's email address, exposing Damon as a cheat, but it was supposed to have been just that night at Indigo. Just that night when he went out with Alex and Eric and drank too much while reminiscing.

"Quinn, I…"

Another long stretch of silence.

Quinn took pity on him. "There's nothing you can say to make this any better, but thank you."

"What the hell are you thanking me for, I sl—"

"For replying to my message, calling my number like I asked and for telling me the truth. Because I know if I'd have asked Damon, he would've lied; he would've said it was just that night."

"But you said he admitted—"

Quinn tore the phone from his ear and pressed his thumb down on end call. As soon as it disconnected, he dropped the phone to the sofa and ripped off his watch.

I love you more than the moon and stars.

If Quinn had been more with it, he would've called Damon, but he was tired, battling tears and the impulse to vomit, and a text seemed appropriate considering how the betrayal had begun.

A year ago, Quinn's father had been dying in a hospice. That's when Damon began to stray, when Quinn was at his most vulnerable.

He kept the message short and to the point.

We're over.

The clock had Quinn's firm attention.

Zane was late, and as each minute passed by, the likeliness he would be a no-show increased. Quinn sighed and began to gather his papers.

"Now that…that is a pretty sight."

Quinn stilled, glancing over to the doorway. Zane leaned against the frame, a casual smile on his face, looking right at Quinn. Before Quinn could utter ‘inappropriate', Zane's gaze moved to the new watch on Quinn's wrist.

"Oh…" He clutched it. "You were talking about that."

Zane had grown his stubble longer. It wasn't beard length as such, but there was more length to it, more scratch, and there were a few patches where the hair was thinner, but it didn't take away from the rough-and-ready look of him.

"Don't you like it?" Zane asked, touching his chin.

He took the seat opposite and stretched his neck to itch the hair on the underside of his jaw. Stubble ran all the way down to Zane's throat.

"Like what?"

Zane stroked his jaw. "This."

"It suits you."

"Thank you, Doctor Quinn."

"I um. I thought you might not come," Quinn admitted.

"I was in confession…"

"Confession?" Quinn startled. "Do you pray?"

"No." Zane snorted. "The vicar makes really good tea if we look particularly troubled." He scrunched his face and wobbled his bottom lip to demonstrate. "I pull this expression, and I get a cup of tea and a biscuit, and in here you learn to value the small things."

"You're not religious then."

"Well, I ended up here."

"You'd be surprised by the number of criminals that state God as their reason."

"And you, Quinn, are you a believer?"

Quinn scrunched his brow. "No. There's a church in my village, but it's more a ruin than a functional church. It desperately needs restoration."

Zane clacked his tongue and looked up thoughtfully. "I see."

"Do you want to continue with the study?"

"Of course." Zane leaned back in his chair. A frown tugged at his brow. "Why do you think I wouldn't?"

"Last week I…"

"Last week I was an arsehole to you. I meant what I said, you needed to hear it, but I didn't enjoy upsetting you."

"Well…thanks."

"You're welcome." Zane pointed at Quinn's wrist. "I like it."

Quinn glanced at his new accessory. "Turns out the old one was still under warranty. I took it back, asked if I could have another of similar value, and here we are. It shows the right time now."

"And the face is the right colour," Zane whispered. "Compliments your eyes."

Quinn shifted and cleared his throat. "Could you really tell things about my relationship from my watch?"

Zane lifted his eyebrows. "Why, are you scared?"

"I was impressed… Once I stopped thinking you were a heartless bastard."

Zane tipped his head back and barked out a laugh. "It's not the first time I've been called that."

"Also…I thought you were a little scary, maybe…"

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He didn't sound mocking.

"So"—Quinn held up his hands—"tell me…how did you know so much?"

"It's what I do. I read people. I learn things about them. People are fascinating; I know you think so too or you wouldn't be here."

"But how ?"

Quinn beckoned with his chin, and Zane sighed. "The watch wasn't of any use to you, yet you kept wearing it. It had sentimental value. At first, I thought it might be from a family member, maybe your dad's watch, but it's too modern, and when we talked about him, you didn't glance down at the watch at all."

Quinn nodded. "You ruled him out."

"I knew you were gay after I took my T-shirt off, so not a girlfriend. You like my body, you like it a lot…and my face, this stubble… Well, it did things to you. It does things to you."

Quinn ignored the singe of heat in his cheeks. "Zane…"

"But when you looked at my body that first time, there was guilt too. You darted looks at the watch, and then when we talked about relationships and romance, you had a hard time keeping your eyes off it. It's broken. You could fix it, but you hadn't…"

"Impressive…"

"And then…" Zane let loose a long sigh. "I lost it."

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I read people, I learn things, work out their wants. I hint, I smirk, but I don't tell. But I read the back of the watch and got angry."

"Why?"

"He used something you love against you."

"Astronomy."

"And you went all gooey-eyed when I read it aloud, and I hated him. I didn't want you to take him back, and I'm hoping that watch is a sign that you haven't."

"I ended it," Quinn said.

"The guy he cheated with, did he have green eyes?"

"He did."

Zane hummed. "The colour was a stretch, but sometimes deceit is in plain sight."

"Turns out he bought the watch for him and not me. I only got it when it was refused." He shook his head. "And to think I was so blown away by this spontaneous gift. Damon's collecting his things tomorrow."

Zane studied Quinn intently, then leaned forward. "Whatever he says tomorrow, don't take it to heart."

"What?"

"Don't let him make you feel any worse."

Quinn frowned at the table, then mumbled, "Let's…let's get back on topic."

Zane relaxed back into his chair. "Now what questions have you got for me today?"

"Didn't Mackie tell you?"

"He's not speaking to me anymore."

"Oh?"

Zane waved his hand. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"The questions today are going to be about sexuality."

"Okay. Ask away."

Quinn nodded. "Would you describe yourself as bisexual?"

"I like what I like. If people call that bisexual, then I guess it's bisexual."

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Zane grinned. "Eighteen."

"Do you enjoy sex?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Do you like to be…in control?"

Zane cocked his head, and Quinn glanced at his shark-like smile. "You sure this is for the study?"

"It's for the study."

"At eighteen I didn't know what I was doing. It was more of a case of stick it in and hope for the best."

Despite wanting to control his reaction, Quinn smiled, then laughed. Zane soon joined him, chuckling, and leaned over the table.

"You have a nice laugh."

"You've told me that before… Don't make me use that word."

"Inappropriate?"

Quinn let out an amused hum.

Zane sighed. "The more sex I had, the more I found my preferences."

"Which were?"

"Men. Of slighter build than me, smaller, blue eyes, mousy-brown hair. Cute, innocent, eager to please but I like to give pleasure, more than receive it. There's something extra erotic about being able to make someone else moan and come apart beneath you."

Quinn tried to write what Zane had said, but his mind went blank and his pencil froze on the paper.

"What about you, Quinn? You like to be in control or controlled? On the top or bottom?"

Quinn squirmed and clenched his ass cheeks together. Zane looked him up and down. He didn't answer, and Zane continued.

"Long, slow blowjobs, or hard and fast?"

Quinn swallowed to relieve his tight throat. "We're not talking about me."

"Oh come on, you're asking about my sexual preferences. Is it so bad that I'm curious about yours?"

"If there's a question you're uncomfortable answering, we can skip it or end this set altogether and continue next week with something else."

Zane rolled his eyes. "I'm not uncomfortable. Ask what you've got to ask."

"How—how do you feel about kissing, cuddling?"

"Why? You offering? I'd happily have a kiss and a cuddle from you."

"Zane…"

"Sorry, but watching you squirm is fun."

Quinn took a calming breath. "Did you kiss and cuddle your lovers?"

"If someone wanted kisses, or cuddles, I'd oblige."

"But did you want to?"

"I don't know."

Quinn blew out a breath through his teeth.

"Is it not the answer you wanted?" Zane raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can adjust and say the words you want me to."

"I don't want you to lie. I want you to respond truthfully."

"Even when you pull confused expressions?"

"Just…" Quinn circled his hand in front of his face. "Ignore this."

"That's impossible."

"Inappropriate."

Zane rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Quinn couldn't make notes under the weight of his gaze and glanced up.

"It's not inappropriate. If I said your lips look plump and inviting, your skin soft and markable, and those big blue eyes of yours are enticing—"

"Zane," Quinn whispered in warning.

Zane raised his hands in surrender. "I said if I said that, it would've been inappropriate, but I didn't."

"You've never had a girlfriend or boyfriend?"

"No."

"So you've never taken someone on a date or been taken on one?"

"There was no need—"

"It's not about need, but desire. Didn't you ever want to take anyone out?"

Zane shrugged. "Sex seemed more appealing than a relationship."

"Why?"

"I never knew who was genuine. I'd seen what women were like with my dad, and sex was easier, more fun, no strings. The press labelled me a sex addict when I turned twenty-three."

Quinn huffed. "But you weren't—you aren't a sex addict?"

"If I was, I'm certainly not now." He laughed.

"There's definitely a common theme…"

"Which is?"

"The press. It must've been hard being the son of someone famous and having all this unwanted attention. Article after article. Lie after lie."

"Do you know how old I was the first time I was papped?"

Quinn shook his head.

"I was ten. They followed me into a game store and cornered me. I didn't know who any of these men were or why they were taking pictures of me, but it was terrifying. They wrote an article about how I was obsessed with violent video games, but they'd backed me into a corner with them."

"Do you hate those men for that?"

"I was scared. The press, they hound and harass. Your life isn't your own; it's what they make it. They only left me alone after I came here. No more stories to sell now I'm locked away, no unexpected camera flashes or women with their phones set to record to catch me out with something I say, something they asked me to say but edited to make me look unhinged."

Quinn knew what Zane was referring to. There was a news report with audio of him demeaning and name-calling a woman while they had sex. She swore he switched, like Jekyll and Hyde, and he defended himself, saying she'd asked him to call her names and snarl in her face. No charges were made, but it didn't matter. The press was all over it.

They called Zane sick, and a danger to society. More men and women came out with stories of ‘the real Zane Black'. Nothing was proved, but it painted Zane in a negative light.

Then one day, he snapped.

"They finally stopped labelling me on murderer . If I'm ever in the papers now, it's ‘murderer Zane Black'," he said.

"And how do you feel about that?"

"It can't get any worse, right?" He sighed. "And there's something freeing about that. Now, I've been good and answered your questions, will you answer one of mine?"

Quinn dropped his pencil and slumped back. "Fine…but I have the right to refuse to answer."

Zane nodded. "Always. Have you ever inserted a vegetable?"

"Inserted—a vegetable, where?" Quinn gawped. "Hell no! Of course not."

His face heated, and Zane raised his eyebrows.

"I really haven't."

Zane's eyebrows kept climbing, and Quinn shook his head frantically, fanning his face with his hand.

"Lucky vegetable."

"But I haven't!"

"Well…" Zane gritted his teeth so Quinn could see. "You're blushing so..."

"I'm blushing because you're making me feel like I have when I haven't."

"You sure?"

"I think it's something I'd remember."

Zane broke out in a laugh, and Quinn narrowed his eyes.

"That's not funny."

"Didn't think it was possible for a person to turn that red."

Quinn scrubbed at his cheeks, but it was no use. He could feel his skin glowing.

"But if you had actually inserted a vegetable—"

"Which I haven't."

"Your face would've turned red, so can you see my dilemma."

Quinn laughed. "But I really haven't."

Zane hummed. "Your eyes would've darted, and you probably would've rushed from the room."

"Let me guess, you would've been able to tell the exact vegetable from the number of steps taken to run away."

Zane winked. "I would've just named random ones until you reacted."

"That's cruel."

"Well, thankfully for you, you've not got a thing for vegetables."

"Only eating them." Quinn shook his head. "What kind of question was that?"

"Saying or doing something outrageous acts as a human reset."

"Explain?"

"I took my T-shirt off—"

"To get answers, you said."

Zane grinned. "And it reset you from your psychologist seriousness. You didn't know where to look or what to do, and it showed me that underneath all this, you're quite sweet and innocent, and I like that."

Quinn clutched his head. "And the vegetable question?"

"It reset you from our serious conversation. Made you laugh. You look nice when you laugh."

"You've already said that. Multiple times now."

"Well, it needs saying." Zane drummed his fingers on the table. "I like to shock people. It resets the mood and gets an honest reaction. You, on the other hand, ask subtle questions, building up to what you want to know. Sometimes my way will give you a real answer and much faster…"

Quinn glanced at his notes, to the question they were heading towards, then he lifted his head hesitantly. "Are you a sadist?"

"No." Zane held up his hands. "I know what's been written about me. I know some of my ex-lovers jumped on my more adventurous side to sell stories to make money, and a few have claimed they had lucky escapes, but no. Nothing I did was without consent, and I was always very considerate of my lovers. I didn't hurt them. As I told you earlier, I prefer to give pleasure rather than receive it. My lovers come first, literally."

Quinn snorted softly, trying to jot down all Zane had said.

"Remember what I said earlier."

Quinn tapped at the sheet of paper. "I would've written it down."

"Before the questions. I told you not to let your ex make you feel any worse."

"Oh. That."

Zane nodded. "That."

Quinn stiffened at the hand suddenly on top of his. He held his breath.

All of the participants had been told not to touch. They'd be removed from the study immediately if they did, but Zane had put his hand over Quinn's on the table, pinning it beneath his. He slid his hand down, dragging his thumb over the scratch marks.

"What happened?"

It took a moment for Quinn to remember. "My cat."

"He seems aggressive."

"He can be." Quinn snorted. "All's fair in love and war."

Zane frowned, squeezed, then let go.

He got to his feet. "See you next week, Doctor Quinn."

"It's Quinn," he rasped.

Zane tucked his chair beneath the table, shot Quinn a smile, then left.

Quinn exhaled and glanced at the camera in the corner. It would've recorded the moment, and Quinn could use it as a reason to remove Zane—he'd broken a rule after all—but he didn't.

He didn't want to remove Zane Black.